


1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8

by knitmeapony



Category: Captain America (comic)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Blinky the Tree Frog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitmeapony/pseuds/knitmeapony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened the day the Winter Soldier malfunctioned.  Bucky tries to put it all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8

**Author's Note:**

> Each section has a word count equal to part of the fibonacci sequence. In total, there are 1972 words, equal to the year it takes place. Yep, I'm faintly insane. I like my structure.

"Steve?"

Nothing.

\-----

BEGIN TRANSMISSION

 _It's all gone._

 _I went where it started._

 _There's nothing left. Hell, let me start over._

 _I am Winter Soldier. Before Winter Soldier, there was James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky._

 _This transmission is intended for Captain America. At the very least, the US government, classification aquamarine. Code... shit. Nine three alpha..._

 _I don't remember. That's the problem. I_ can _prove I'm who I think I am. I won't break your cover, but you'll know it's me by where I go. That's the easiest way to get through. I'll go to New York, through the old checkpoints. Those, at least, I know. That's about all I know._

 _I keep forgetting, keep losing the thread. Did I say that? He zhaju ja zdesk tolko pabotaju! Hah. I wish I'd known that one when we were fighting them. Anyway, I know when it starts - my hands start to feel wrong, not my own. My clothes don't fit. Sweating. Shaking. Lack of emotional response._

 _Wait, we didn't fight them. Fought with them. Something... hell. That's why I'm recording - it's too hard to write when your handwriting's wrong. Something's wrong, very wrong. It's 1972, it's April. I can't find you. The old camp's been broken. Not Lehigh, just... so many things that're broken. I don't understand. I know we won -- I'm glad we won, anyway, I don't speak German, I don't think. I don't remember speaking Russian, either, but It could've been worse, everyone... I can't do this. Steve, where are you?_

\-----

He stopped the recorder and took a long drink. He wasn't even sure what he was tasting, anymore. If he was tasting anything at all. It could've been water, could have been alcohol. He couldn't quite remember what he'd picked up, only that it hadn't been in glass. That was the damndest thing, wasn't it? Not glass, not metal, not wood. One of those new things, they'd just been testing it when he --

When whatever. Like Bakelite. Thinner.

So, there he was, in an empty room. It used to be a safe house. There was still some equipment in the walls. He stole a few things. At least he had a weapon. He examined it, each piece, and then reassembled it, loaded it, flicked off the safety. He could feel his mind slipping away, and he wanted to be armed when it happened.

\-----

 _Jesus, things have changed. How am I still twenty? It's been twenty years, and they must've done a hell of a trick on me. It can't be the Germans, there's nothing left of the Germans. And I can't think... I read that the Russians... it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. My nose bleed. Is bleeding. What in the hell is going on?_

 _I guess it's conditioning. They told me about that not long after I was in uniform. They sent me in and they told me I might have to get it. Conditioning. So it didn't do some kind of damage to my fragile brain. I'd say I did more damage to wait. Message. Right. I've been trying to get a message through._

 _Steve, it's me. It's Bucky. I don't know who did this to me. I don't know what's going on. I do know I took a shot at a senator, and I don't know why. There's got to be someone in this country who can tell me what's going on, don't you think? There's always got to be someone who's got a clue. It's the rule, isn't it? There's always a reason. Always a good one._

 _That's what you always told me. So what's the reason now?_

 _I just want to go home, Steve. I know you can help me. That you will._

 _No matter what I've done._

\-----

There were gaps, still, but the worst was waking up. He always woke up to the same tableau, empty rooms, bare tables, brain flying out of the back of somebody's skull. The first one wasn't innocent. But this one? Just living here, squatting here, and all Bucky could do was cringe, close his eyes, and clean up the mess. It was a safe house -- hah safe for who? -- and Bucky knew he'd find maps here. More money. He had a pocket full of bus tickets, but he needed one more. Here to DC, then DC to New York. There was something he needed to do, somewhere to go...find it, add it up. He felt himself slipping again, but he always left himself clues. You had to add them up, make them accumulate. It was like the Fibonacci sequence. He'd loved math, back at Lehigh.

If you just added one and one and one, you got small numbers. You just had to add what you had now with what you had before. One and one, then one and two. Two and three. Three and five.

It added up so fast.

 _I am. I am trained. I am trained well, and I am in the United States. Time has passed. My body's been drugged. I've been drugged in the United States, and my training shook it off after so much time... I shouldn't have killed that kid._

He glanced over his shoulder at the body, and moved to roll it back. Face was gone, but the hair was right. Bucky dug into his pockets, found some ID. Skin's a bit dark, but it was good enough for government work.

Hah.

He'd done government work.

Keep adding, before it started subtracting...

He needed to find Steve. He knew that, but he didn't know where to begin. No news about him, no way to look him up. No way to check and see... he just had to get to New York. In the end, he just had to go back to New York and find that little apartment. Steve'd always go back to the beginning. Best to follow the Cap's good example.

Wait.

Who?

Shit, it'd slipped. He just knew a face...

Better go before it slipped more.

\-----

REDACTED FROM WHITE HOUSE SECURITY RECORDINGS

BARNES: I don't know how I got here.

NIXON: What the hell happened to the security outside my window?

BARNES: I don't know that, either. [pause] If I came past them, I'm reasonably sure they're dead.

NIXON: So you don't know your name.

BARNES: Winter... something winter. Stephen Winter? [silence] We'll go with that.

NIXON: But you do know you kill people.

BARNES: I remember a lot of killing. I've been adding things up. It takes a lot of work. [pause, sound of shuffling] There's a lot of drugs in my system.

[clicking sound]

BARNES: I wouldn't bother. If I'm here, I've disabled your security.

NIXON: To sit in my chair?

BARNES: It is a nice chair.

NIXON: Do you know who I am?

BARNES: Not really, know. I just knew I could get in here, when I saw it.

NIXON: So you broke in to the White House because it was there?

BARNES: To add things up. One and one is two. I am a person. I exist.

NIXON: You're insane.

BARNES: More or less. One and two is three. I wasn't always this way. Someone made me this way.

NIXON: And one and three is four, get the hell out of my office!

BARNES: No, two and three is five. If I'm here, it was probably you.

NIXON: What?

BARNES: Aren't you the most powerful man in the world?

NIXON: So you do know who I am.

BARNES: Only by reputation. Not a good one.

NIXON: And you think I did something to you?

BARNES: I'm not a crackpot.

NIXON: The hell you say.

BARNES: No, I'm reasonably sure I'm military trained. And I couldn't kill him. Towers, I mean. The Senator. At the very least, I failed. I'm pretty sure on purpose.

NIXON: John Towers?

BARNES: Yes.

NIXON: Then you wandered over to the White House to steal the presidents chair?

BARNES: Ah, the president. That's who you are.

NIXON: Look, Winters. Steve, whatever you want to be called --

BARNES: Steve.

NIXON: Steve, right --

BARNES: I need to find Steve. Three and five, eight, he's got to be around here. He should've stopped me.

NIXON: Someone should have.

BARNES: I have to find Steve.

[[breaking glass]]

\-----

 _He's not on the level. I've been to the hotel, now, and let me tell you, I read some very interesting documents. Pulled a wire, got the police there._

 _Things'll work themselves out, I think. Don't they always?_

 _I think you'd be proud that I've made it this far. I still have pieces to sort through._

 _I think I killed the president._

 _Metaphorically, at least._

 _Not like the kid. Things I've done._

 _Not just this time, Steve, it's years. It's before you were gone. I think you're gone._

 _What am I going to do if you're gone? Who's left?_

 _I've got it added up. I'm Bucky. The Russians had me. They're looking for me again, probably find me pretty soon. They've trained me, drugged me, but I knew once I was here that I was home. I'm not Winter Soldier. But I am Winter Soldier. The things I've done..._

 _I did worse as Bucky._

 _I was the one who went in before you. I was the reason you never had to kill._

 _You're supposed to be here for me, too._

 _You're a goddamned ass for dying._

 _Or disappearing. I know I went too, but that's no excuse._

 _Except I know that you're here. I know it, somehow, and maybe I'm just not up to date._

 _Did they get you, too?_

 _I keep just missing the news. Maybe there's a reason for that._

 _Help._

\-----

There's this story that the kids tell, of the day this guy came down. He had a gun and he wasn't waving it, just letting it hang like a kid with a toy. Wandering with this blank face, looking up at the buildings, never asking directions, never saying things right. The language was all weird, like he couldn't quite get the words out, but he was looking for some guy. He managed 'where' and 'winter' and 'shield' and 'Steve'. Wandering New York like he owned the place, or like an alien or something. Kids told kids, and parents overheard, and word ripped through the underworld, and the right person got the right word. And everyone knew it'd get taken care of.

He never came back.

Nobody remembered a Steve, except the one that died in the war.

This kid was too young for that.

\-----

"I know this place." There was a faint beeping, somewhere, and he rubbed his ears as if he could make it go. Except he realized it was in his ears. In, and all around. God damn it. He peered around the tunnels... he'd hidden down here. With Cap. Steve. He didn't have far to go, now. He knew where he was, and all he had to do was get there. Except for the ringing. That meant they were coming, too close. Just time for a short message, and then...

Then what? Then it was all over. He wasn't sure they were here to recapture, after all. It could be the end. He fumbled for the recorder he'd kept from the beginning. That first safe house, where he'd pieced it together. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes." A quiet mantra. "I know who I am."

\-----

 _I have to finish this recording fast, because I know -- somehow -- that they -- someone -- they're coming to take me away, back to wherever it is that isn't here. Not home._

 _I'm looking for someone that's supposed to find me. I'm not the hero, here, I'm not supposed to be the lead._

 _I don't know where you are, but I have faith you'll find me._

 _I have to. I'm the one with faith._

 _I hope you find this._

 _Have to go._

 _They're here._

 _..._

 _Steve?_

END

  



End file.
